


fingers in my hair, warmth in my heart

by hlundqvists



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blindfolds, Blowjobs, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, New York Rangers, there's a lot of domestic scenes in this okay i don't know how to tag to cover it all, this is honestly just a straight up mix of Super Domestic moments and Super Indulgent Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 12:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10536867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlundqvists/pseuds/hlundqvists
Summary: So, while he lets it grow mostly for himself, he lets it grow for Hank, too.There’s no shame in that, he thinks.or, marc's hair has been extra long this season and i wanted to write a fic about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> firstly, wow, hello. it's been quite a while since i've managed to finish something and post it. i hope you can all find it in your hearts to forgive me for this long absence; things have been incredibly tough for me and it's been so difficult to get anything done so i'm feeling a lot about finally having something finished to post.
> 
> second, i couldn't let the season go by without writing something about marc's hair. he's let it grow out so much more than he has in the past and i'm very much unashamed to say how into it i am. 
> 
> third, thank you to lauren (as always) for looking this over for me and thank you to her, j, and melody for offering me so much help in figuring out a title for this.
> 
> lastly:
> 
> to ras, i told you i would put daddy-o in here just for you. i hope you enjoy it.
> 
> to hann, the blindfold is all for you.

**_i._ **

Marc lets his hair grow out, mostly because he wants to, but also because he can still vividly recall the way Hank had longingly murmured, “love your hair, wish there was more to pull on,” while Marc had blown him one night. 

So, while he lets it grow mostly for himself, he lets it grow for Hank, too. 

There’s no shame in that, he thinks. 

**_ii._ **

It doesn’t take much time for Marc’s hair to grow long enough that it starts curling a bit under his ears. He decides on his own that if he’s really going to do this, he might as well let the facial hair grow too.

There’s some teasing, at first. Comments made in the locker room about Marc forgetting what scissors are or asking where the inspiration for his new look has come from. He takes it all in stride, firing right back at Klein with a _Vikings_ -related jibe about his hair. (“How’d your audition for _Vikings_ go, man? Are you the new Ragnar or what?” “Man, I fucking _wish_.”)

Laughter and bright smiles are constant underlying factors during the teasing sessions.

Hank joins in with the teasing on occasion. Usually only when he’s sitting next to Marc as they take off their gear and he can reach out to touch the locks curled near Marc’s ear. Hank’s touches have become more frequent in the locker room, a fact Marc has yet to point out in slight worry of making them lessen.

Hayes does it for him in an offhanded comment after practice one morning.

“You’re really enjoying this new hair, Hank, aren’t you?”, Kevin asks from where he’s sitting next to Marc, grinning a little over at Hank on Marc’s other side.

Hank’s fingers, which had been curling against Marc’s hair, go still and Marc almost curses because that’s it, the lingering touches are going to be gone now and he’s totally disowning Kevin for it.

“Yeah,” Hank finally answers, his fingers moving again. Marc nearly breathes a loud sigh of relief, but then Hank continues and Marc has to fight to not choke on air. “It makes things extra fun in the bedroom. More for me to grab, you know?”

Kevin pretends to gag, flipping Hank off, “ _Dude_ , shut up, you’re like my parents. I don’t want to know those things.”

“Don’t ask questions that you might not want to hear the answers to then.”

Hank laughs and gives a barely-felt tug to Marc’s hair, just enough to feel like a promise of things to come.

**_iii._ **

The rug feels rough against Marc’s knees and there’s a slight crick in his neck, but neither of those things matter much when he’s got Hank’s cock in his mouth and Hank’s fingers in his hair.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hank can barely get the words out, tugging on Marc’s hair as he works his hips up, “Marc, fuck, that’s _so good_.”

Marc hums, peering up through his eyelashes at Hank. He loves this; the taste and weight of Hank in his mouth, the ache in his jaw, the burning of his lungs, the prickling of tears felt at the corners of his eyes as Hank fucks into his mouth over and over without letting up.

Hank didn’t lie to Kevin that day. There is more for him to grab onto now, and he utilizes it the best he can. Hands fisting in Marc’s hair to hold him firmly in place while fucking Marc’s mouth hard. 

Marc can hardly breathe. All he can taste and feel is _Hank, Hank, Hank_. He thrives off of it, hands braced on Hank’s thighs as he takes every thrust that is given to him.

“You gonna swallow for me, baby?”

Hank sounds so breathless, so absolutely lost in the heat of Marc’s mouth, and Marc aches desperately with the need to taste Hank’s come, to have Hank choke him with it a little. He hums loudly around Hank’s dick and squeezes at Hank’s thighs to give his answer, knowing Hank will understand.

“A- _ah_ , fuck,” is all the warning Marc gets as Hank grips his hair tight enough to hurt and comes down his throat. It’s warm and overwhelming and Marc can’t really swallow at first, choking for air that he can’t get, but it feels _good_ and he whimpers as Hank pulls out halfway.

He licks the tip of Hank’s cock, feeling messy and used in the best ways, swallowing down everything he can. Hank is breathing heavily, fingers loosening in Marc’s hair to start petting him slowly while Marc cleans his cock with gentle kitten licks.

“You’re so fucking good,” Hank finally says once he’s caught his breath. Marc feels loose and warm from the words, even more so from the slow stroking of Hank’s hand through his hair. He rests his head against Hank’s thigh, eyes closed, as he focuses on the grounding feeling.

He’s lulled into a calm state, one hand dropping to curl loosely around Hank’s ankle. He doesn’t care that he’s hard; all he cares about is the feeling of Hank’s fingers in his hair.

“Hey,” Hank’s voice breaks him from the lull, makes him lift his head and peer up to see Hank smiling fondly. “Get up here. It’s your turn.”

Marc scrambles up to sit on Hank’s lap, arms easily circling Hank’s shoulders.

When he finally comes, it’s from the combination of Hank’s hand on his cock and the sharp, sweet sting of Hank’s teeth under his jaw after pulling hard on his hair.

**_iv._ **

Sharing a shower isn’t out of the ordinary for them. It quickly became an expected part of their routine once Marc moved in full-time with Hank.

Marc likes sharing that space with Hank. He likes being pressed close, using the same shampoos and body wash as Hank so he _smells_ like Hank even when they may be apart. It’s comforting to Marc and he thinks that maybe on Hank’s part, there’s a slight level of possessiveness that comes with showering together.

Nine times out of ten, Hank winds up with his hands in Marc’s hair to lather in shampoo and work that scent - the smell so closely tied to _Hank_ \- in. Marc absolutely loves it and practically turns to goo whenever Hank drags his fingers so lovingly along Marc’s scalp.

He feels handled by Hank in this way, and it’s a mixture of relaxing, arousing, and comforting. Hank washing him always feels uniquely intimate and Marc never shies away from it. 

Marc finds, to his utter delight, that the whole experience only gets _better_ as his hair gets longer.

Hank’s hands have only been in his hair for less than a minute and the noises spilling out of him are already loud and embarrassing. His eyes are closed and his body feels ready to collapse, his knees weak from the extra lovely pressure of Hank’s fingers pressing down in all the right spots while working the suds of shampoo through Marc’s hair.

“Mmm _mmm_ ,” is the only coherent noise to slip from Marc’s lips as Hank carefully rinses out Marc’s hair.

Hank laughs and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Marc’s mouth, fingers still working over Marc’s scalp, as he teasingly asks, “Are you going to start purring again like last time?”

Marc opens his eyes, ready to retort with a challenge for Hank to _make_ him purr, but he’s distracted by a new shampoo bottle he spots over Hank’s shoulder that he didn’t notice before, and instead what comes out of his mouth is, “Daddy-o?”

Hank blinks in confusion, looking somewhat startled. It takes a moment to click before he goes, “ _ah_ ,” and turns his head to look at the bottle, brow furrowed a fraction.

“Kevin got it for me. I didn’t even want to ask.”

Marc laughs, lifting his hands to Hank’s shoulders and pulls him in for a kiss, whispering against his lips, “Should I call you Daddy when you use it?”

Hank’s reaction is slightly unexpected, but Marc loves the sweet press of Hank’s teeth against his lower lip as Hank’s fingers curl tightly in his wet hair, pulling on it in that way Marc has quickly grown to love.

(Their showers grow calmer when Marc gets a concussion almost midway through the season. Hank’s touch becomes so much lighter, gentler. It’s enough to make Marc cry some nights. Hank holds him through it.)

**_v._ **

Rough patches lasting over a stretch of games happen each year. They both know to expect it, but that doesn’t always make it easier when the rough times occur.

They find solace in being curled up together at night, legs tangled beneath soft sheets.

Marc always curls in close, resting his head on Hank’s chest. Hank’s fingers always find their way to Marc’s hair, stroking slowly, petting him. Every so often, Hank twirls the ends of Marc’s hair around his fingers, but then he’s right back to petting; gentle repetitive motions that soothe and focus them both. 

Their breathing syncs up. Their hearts beat together.

Marc whispers soft words against the crook of Hank’s neck, words of love and total belief.

Hank lets the words soak into his skin, absorbs them into his bloodstream. 

He keeps petting Marc and whispers, “Jag älskar dig”, as Marc falls asleep under the repeating motion of his fingers.

**_vi._ **

He’s on his hands and knees, such a familiar position for him to be in. The blindfold covering his eyes is soft, secured tight enough to not move an inch but not uncomfortably so; not that Marc would notice or care if it was. He can’t focus on anything except the feeling of Hank fucking into him roughly, taking control of his body, making him take everything Hank wants to give.

Marc thrives under that control. 

He’s stretched around Hank’s cock, broken whimpers and sobs coming from him with every thrust, desperate begging pleas for more filling the air. 

His body feels like fire; every sense heightened by the lack of sight, making each thrust and every touch from Hank more significant in the pleasure being given. It’s all so much more intense. Hank’s fingers digging into his skin, teasing touches to his cock, bites to his shoulder and neck; all of it has him shaking profoundly, barely able to hold himself up.

He squirms and gasps for air the most when Hank grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs on it hard, pulling his head back to expose to his throat. Marc barely has a chance to gulp down another lungful of oxygen before Hank’s other hand is curling around his throat, squeezing lightly to choke him a bit while fucking into him even harder.

Marc feels like he’s about to explode, or maybe collapse. He doesn’t know which. All he knows, the one thing he is _absolutely_ sure of, is that he belongs completely to Hank; in this moment and every moment.

“You’re such a good, dirty slut,” Hank’s voice is rough, low near Marc’s ear. His hand tightens around Marc’s neck, other hand pulling Marc’s hair at the same time. “My good, good slut. I want you to come for me. Will you do that?”

Marc can’t breathe, can’t form any words, can barely nod with Hank’s grip on his throat and hair but he does his best to convey that he _will_ obey.

And he does.

He comes when Hank growls out the order against his ear, his body and senses completely overwhelmed. He thinks he blacks out for a moment because there’s a blank gap in his mind between his own orgasm and Hank’s. He doesn’t remember Hank coming, but he feels the warmth of it inside himself and can’t help a whimper when Hank pulls out and he can feel it start to leak out on his thighs.

The blindfold comes off, finally, and Marc has to blink his eyes slowly to readjust to the dull light in the room. His hair gets in the way, falling over his eyes, sticking to his sweat-covered skin. It almost makes him feel lost, but then Hank is right there to kiss his cheek softly and brush his hair back, whispering so fondly, “Good boy. So, so good.”

Hank’s fingers run through Marc’s hair slowly for a few minutes before pulling away to get a cloth to wipe Marc down with. Marc hums softly, getting comfortable against the bed while falling easily into that warm, happy lull he always reaches when Hank cleans him up.

Every touch is so gentle, and Marc falls asleep to the sound of Hank murmuring praise and love against his ear while fingers stroke so carefully through his hair.

**_vii._ **

It can get hot in the kitchen, which wasn’t always an issue, but now that Marc’s hair is longer, it becomes more of a nuisance for him to constantly swipe his hair away from his forehead as he cooks.

He puts up with it for a while, solely because of the weird little noise Hank makes each time he catches Marc pushing his hair back. It sounds vaguely similar to the noise Marc makes whenever he catches Hank adjusting his tie. It’s an involuntary action of swooning, and Marc feels slightly validated each time it happens to Hank.

After a point, though, it becomes too much a hassle to deal with unruly strands of hair getting in the way and Marc invests in a headband to keep his hair out of his eyes while cooking.

Hank doesn’t exactly outwardly pout when he sees it, but there is a noticeable slump to his shoulders. 

Marc laughs a little at that as he works on making dinner, glancing over at Hank with a teasing smile.

“Really, babe?”

Hank hoists himself up to sit on the counter, watching Marc.

“What? I liked it when you had to push it back yourself. You looked all….” Hank trails off, prompting Marc to poke him in the knee with a spoon.

“All what?”

“Hot and bothered.”

Marc laughs loudly at that answer and leans over to quickly kiss Hank before returning his attention to the food.

“You can make me all hot and bothered later, and I’ll push my hair back for you all sexy-like. But I want to pull a not-you right now and have an unburnt meal for dinner.”

That earns him a gentle kick to the thigh, but there’s a small smile curling at the corners of Hank’s lips and Marc counts it as a win towards getting Hank to loosen up about his lack of cooking skills.

“You know,” Hank finally speaks after a comfortable silence has built up. “It’s actually not that bad. The headband. I like it,” he says as he snags Marc by the hips and pulls him close. He brings a hand up to adjust the band a bit, sticking a strand of hair that escaped back under.

“It’s cute,” Hank murmurs against Marc’s lips.

Marc’s cheeks turn a very faint pink and when he bites his lip in embarrassment as he touches the headband and mumbles a low “thank you”, Hank feels the familiar swooning from when Marc would push his hair back and can barely stop himself from making that weird little noise.

Marc looks triumphant as Hank fails.

**_viii._ **

Over the years, Hank and Marc have become the designated babysitter for the Girardis whenever possible. They love it. They love Landon and Shaye, and getting to spend time with the kids is something they always look forward.

Today, they only have Shaye in their care as Landon is at a friend’s house for a sleepover. Dan wanted to use the chance to take his wife out for an actual _real_ date night, and Marc, the second he caught wind of Dan’s plan, offered up babysitting services for Shaye.

Shaye is slightly grumpy when Dan drops her off, but she does brighten a tiny bit when she realizes she gets to spend time with her uncles / _and_ / Nova and doesn’t have to share the attention with her brother.

Marc takes Shaye and her backpack to the living once they’ve say goodbye to Dan, and Nova follows close behind, her tail wagging happily. Hank joins them on the couch as Marc gets Shaye settled in to watch a movie, only hitting play once Nova is situated and resting by their feet.

It doesn’t take long for Shaye’s attention to stray a bit from the movie and she turns where she’s perched on Marc’s lap, reaching up to play with his hair. It captures her attention more than the movie does and Marc seems to be fine with bending his head down so Shaye can get her fingers in his hair even more. Hank’s chest grows a bit tight at that, glimpses of a possible future flashing into his mind, and he sneaks his phone from his pocket to take a few photos of the moment.

The movie ends, and Nova lets it be known to Hank that she has to go out, whining and pawing at Hank’s leg. Hank gets up to take her for a walk, smiling as he goes and listens to Marc telling Shaye that she gets to decide what snacks they’ll have and what activity they’ll do next when Hank and Nova come back. Shaye can barely contain her excitement at being allowed to choose and Hank promises Nova will be quick.

Hank comes back to discover the most wonderful sight of Marc sitting on the floor with Shaye perched up on the couch behind him as she carefully adds little clips and barrettes to Marc’s hair. All of the clips are brightly colored, clashing in the most hideous way with Marc’s ginger tones. Some resemble butterflies, others have obvious princess themes to them. All of them scattered through Marc’s hair in a way only a child could achieve; a delightful and colorful mess.

Marc beams over at Hank, and Hank feels a tightening in his chest at how happy Marc looks to be Shaye’s hair experiment.

“Hey, babe,” Marc’s tone is equal parts serious and amused as he asks, “Do I look like a beautiful princess now?”

Hank grins, answer coming immediately and completely serious, “Oh, yeah. You look perfect. The most beautiful princess.”

Shaye is delighted by Hank’s response and claps her hands a few times before adding some more clips to Marc’s hair. A few final touches and she declares with another happy giggle, “All done!”

Hank gets his phone out, taking /a lot/ of pictures. Marc poses for quite a few, laughing, and turns himself around to look at Shaye.

“Thank you for making my hair the best hair in the entire kingdom.”

Shaye beams, clapping her hands again as she looks over at Hank and says, “Your turn!”

Hank nearly chokes as Marc dissolves into laughter, patting the floor next to him.

“Come on, babe,” Marc manages between laughs, “Let Shaye make your hair beautiful like mine.”

Hank does, because _of course_ he does, and it leads to many light-hearted arguments over who has the better princess hair long after Shaye has gone home.

(Marc shows everyone the photos in the locker room and even goes as far as setting up an entire poll for everyone to vote on whose hair looked better. Marc wins by five votes and never lets Hank forget it.)

**_ix._ **

There’s a lot Hank loves about Marc’s longer hair, but he knows his favorite thing about it is absolutely as sappy as can be. He loves the extra messy hair in the morning, that chaotic messy bird’s nest on top of Marc’s head; hair sticking up in a million directions as Marc groans and refuses to get up, clinging with his octopus-like grip to Hank, keeping them in bed past their alarms.

Hank knows his hair is just as messy, if not worse, and maybe that’s what he loves best. Sharing this kind of domestic, messy moment with Marc. They are the only ones who see each other in certain ways; broken down, sick and disgusting, or extra messy bedhead with gross morning breath to match as Hank lazily kisses Marc despite Marc’s protesting grumbles about the terrible taste of Hank’s mouth.

“Yuck,” Marc mumbles after another lingering kiss is pressed to his lips. Hank grins as Marc initiates the next kiss and brushes their lips together, contradicting the scrunched up state of his nose.

Hank runs his fingers through the mess on top of Marc’s head, an attempt to tame it a bit with just his fingers but that task proves to be impossible. He opts to play with the longer locks near the nape of Marc’s neck, mumbling teasingly against his lips, “You’re overdue for a haircut, älskling.”

“You’d miss it too much,” Marc responds quickly, “I can’t break your heart like that.”

Hank laughs and kisses Marc again, one hand tangling in Marc’s hair, other resting on his hip to squeeze lightly.

They melt into each other, warm from shared body heat and shared love. The sunlight starts peeking in through the shades to get a glimpse at the precious moment as Marc presses closer and Hank sighs fondly into his mouth.

They kiss and kiss and kiss until their lips are tingling, their bodies buzzing. Hank’s phone starts to go off with a shrill alarm that they can’t ignore or else they’ll be late for practice, but it doesn’t seem to matter to either of them for a few more seconds. Not when Hank has his fingers tangled in Marc’s hair and Marc has his hand fisted in the front of Hank’s sleep shirt or when they both move in for another kiss a little too fast and bump noses and teeth and laugh about it before sinking into another sweet, slow kiss.

They can’t ignore the alarm any longer, though, and Hank tugs on Marc’s hair lightly, kissing him quickly one more time before getting out of bed.

Marc pouts, but follows after another moment, missing Hank’s warmth too much, and they go about their usual morning routine.

It always starts in the bathroom. Marc tends to still cling a bit even after getting out of bed, and over the years Hank has perfected the shuffle over to the toilet to pee while Marc holds on to him from behind and rubs his cheek against Hank’s shoulder, asking what he should make them for breakfast.

“Whatever’s quick and easy,” Hank answers quickly, immediately regretting the word choice as soon as he feels Marc start to smirk against his shoulder.

“I’d love to eat you for breakfast, babe,” Marc quips, one hand trying to get in a stealthy grope of Hank’s ass. “But I don’t think you’ve ever been one to be quick _or_ easy.”

Hank rolls his eyes and flushes the toilet, reaching back to elbow Marc in the side.

“Let go, I need to shower. Go make food.”

Marc grins, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Hank’s neck before letting go.

They are close to running late, but it doesn’t make either of them feel rushed. They’ve perfected this routine over the years, taking every possible obstacle in stride. Marc has breakfast ready by the time Hank is out of the shower, and they eat in an unrushed silence, ankles knocking as they sit side-by-side; Hank in his bathrobe with wet hair, Marc still in his pajamas with unruly hair.

Hank deals with the dishwasher while Marc goes and gets dressed and makes sure their gear bags, car keys, and phones are all in order. Then, as Hank gets dressed, Marc gets their travel cups of coffee made, and it’s time to go and somehow, magically, they still have five minutes to spare.

It’s a quiet, beautiful commute to the practice rink. 

Marc fiddles a little with the radio, puts something on low and sips his coffee as he gazes out the window at the scenery passing by. Hank smiles and takes one hand off the steering wheel to reach for Marc, and as on most days now, instead of twining his fingers with Marc’s, he curls them into the ends of Marc’s hair, thumb brushing against Marc’s neck.

Marc smiles against the brim of his cup, closes his eyes, and leans back into the touch.

**Author's Note:**

> the daddy-o shampoo is an [actual real thing](http://www.lushusa.com/hair/shampoo/daddy-o/02003.html), okay, i didn't make it up.


End file.
